Teardrop
by Ophelia Davis
Summary: My then small hand, along with Alphonse’s, clutches hers, our mothers. Sat by her side, I can feel her steady pulse, radiating through my fingers. But, slowly it fades, disappearing into the limpness of her hand. Like her new pulse, she’s suddenly gone.


Author's note: Based from the lyrics of Teardrop by Massive Attack, a song which itself has been used as the theme for House, MD. Since my last song fiction, Glitter in the Air seemed to be a hit, I thought I would do another one for you. It's in a community as well, so maybe you might like to add one of your own song fictions to it. Anyway, don't forget to Read and Review. Thanks, Ophelia Davis.

My then small hand, along with Alphonse's, clutches hers, our mothers. Sat by her side, I can feel her steady pulse, radiating through my fingers. But, slowly it fades, disappearing into the limpness of her hand. Like her new pulse, she's suddenly gone.

We loved her so much; we needed her, even though we never said it. To us, our love and gratitude was expressed in our actions. Alchemy was her reminder of our father, and it always made her smile. For us, love was doing word. That's why it's so unfair; was our love only ever measure in words? If so, then it wouldn't amount to much.

With each transmutation, after drawing upon a surface with chalk, my hands would press upon the array like a stance of prayer, and then the light would bathe me warmly. Her smile would reciprocate the feeling, only warmer than any sun. I loved the feel of that sunlight. Wasn't that love enough?

Once she was gone, it made me realise that I couldn't live without that sunlight, and so sparkled that gentle impulsion. As I leaned weakly over my fireplace, it shook me by the shoulder, making my arms grow wider to embrace the idea.

At first, the fire felt like a wall of impossibility; the ability to bring the human to life. No matter how much I cried for my mother, cried onto the fire, my small tears barely quenched the fire; they just faded. It was what made me realise, if I filled up a bucket, full of the water of my knowledge, if I was _patient _enough to let it fill to the brink, then I would be able to drag it to the fireplace and pour away the flames. My knowledge would outweigh the taboo, and the impossibility would disappear. I just needed time.

Finally, I was at the brink and I knew all I needed to know. Alphonse too, though a feeling knotted itself tight in his stomach, felt ready. Now, my taboo, her perfectly flower of her funeral could finally be cultivated. Soon, it will be able to blossom.

Yet, I have never seen a black flower, and nor did they exist. I couldn't let this feeling get in my way, so that night, once the array was complete and the seeds had been sown, I knelt down and let the sunlight bathe me again; trying to nourish the flower with the ingredients and beg it blossom like it had done before. But on that night, I realised that the only black flowers that existed were dead ones, and no matter how much your fingers try to force the petals to open, the flower will never bloom again. It will only be crushed by you force and fingers. You force makes it suffer, like we made _her _suffer.

I thought we had succeeded, for us to lose so much; to hear her pulse again and feel it thrum through my ears as my hope. But what we created…should never have been forced to live. That wall of fire had never ceased to burn. My will, my teardrops, could never have broken it down.

I would like to say I'm over it now; say I'm strong enough to withstand a single mention of her, but it still hurts. I look into a mirror once in a while, put faith in that it retells my true image, and then I see it, a tear in my eye. I look at myself and feel ashamed. The reflection in Alphonse's armour, my most faithful mirror even sees tears in my eyes, and I know now. I know that once I get his original body back, I will be able to see his sunlit smile, and when I chance upon my reflection in his eyes, I will only see myself smile. My tears will be that of joy. My sad tears will have been left at the fireplace.

So, do you know now, Lieutenant Colonel? Why I must become a State alchemist? Why I'm confessing this all to you?

'Yes, you want to undo you mistakes, as if you never committed the taboo in the first place. But you realise the position you've put yourself into? If I were to let my mouth run awry, then you would be arrested, and Alphonse would be taken to a lab for repeated experiments.'

You can't truly mean it, can you? Lie, I dare you to lie! After all, without us, you won't get the points you need, right?

'Settle down, Edward. As long as you swear absolute loyalty to the Fuhrer and don't make gold, no one will know because I won't have to bring up your _other _charges.'

What about you? Do _you _have any skeletons in your closet?

'…Not really, though I did once consider Human Transmutation myself. I was a soldier in Ishbal, and I hated myself for destroying all those lives. I too wanted to erase my mistakes, so I have to ask, what did you see when you tried to bring her back?'

A Gate. A being stood before it in this white void, the Truth, he called himself. His gentle impulsion of black ribbons dragged me into it. It was as soon as I had breeched the Gate that I realised my mistake. I thought I would never escape; always be tumbling down eternally. In there, I no longer saw darkness, but I saw everything. This new information shook me through and through. My mind was being stretched wider and wider, so much so that I felt I would explode any minute.

I'm glad you didn't commit the taboo. I lost a leg for _one _person. If you were to apply it to your death count then there would be nothing left. You would fade to nothingness and then there will be plenty of people crying at their fireplaces. But that fire will never be put out; they would have realised from your mistake and learned from it.

'Quite right, but out of curiosity, what reward did you acquire from it?'

I would hardly call it a reward, because I've lost a lot for it; even my need for chalk. All I do now is set my hands to pray, and I feel that sunlight again, doing my whim.

Every time I do it, I'm reminded that black flowers can never blossom, no matter how much you _beg _them to blossom.

Trying just causes more pain.


End file.
